


Girls’ Night

by Shewolf_of_highgarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Bachelorette Party, Childhood Friends, Coming Home Again, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Female Friendship, Growing Up, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, for almost everyone else, only for Myrcella and Trystane, these girls grow up together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shewolf_of_highgarden/pseuds/Shewolf_of_highgarden
Summary: Arya has been going to sleepovers with Shireen and Myrcella Baratheon for the better part of her childhood. So when Myrcella requests one last sleep over before she gets married, Arya thinks it is simple enough. But when it comes to those three nothing is ever simple.orMyrcella Baratheon's last hoorah reunites three childhood best friends, rekindles old forgotten flames, and forces more than one person to break the law.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Myrcella Baratheon & Shireen Baratheon & Arya Stark, Myrcella Baratheon & Tommen Baratheon, Myrcella Baratheon/Trystane Martell, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Shireen Baratheon & Stannis Baratheon, Shireen Baratheon/Bran Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	1. MmmBop

**Author's Note:**

> 299 AC - Red Keep, King's Landing

“But I don’t want to go.” Arya didn’t whine to Father, sitting on the steps leading into the foyer.

It was unfair, really. Just because Father made her move to King’s Landing didn’t mean she had to spend all her time with these people. She didn’t want to go to some sleepover at the Red Keep, she wanted to stay home and call Jorelle and if one of her sisters was hogging the phone, she’d try Bethany. Or she’d watch one of the movies she’d stolen from Jon with Nymeria.

“Arya,’ Father sighed, ‘We discussed this. You are going to go and have fun. It’s not normal for you to be alone all the time. Don’t you want to make friends?”

“I have friends,” Arya said.

She did. She had loads of friends. She had Jorelle and Lyanna and Bethany and Mycah and the younger Karstarks. She had Wylla and Cley and all the kids who came with their parents to Winterfell, whether it was to work or to visit. Arya Stark had tons of friends…they just weren’t _here_.

Mother and Father did not seem to grasp that. Mother may not be in King’s Landing either, but Arya knew she’d spoken to Father about it. She had spoken to Arya about it too. How she wanted Arya to make friends and how being alone wasn’t good for her. Neither Mother nor Father seemed to grasp that if it wasn’t for them and the stupid king she wouldn’t be alone, she’d be home in Winterfell with her friends.

“You should make some down here. Get to know some people before school starts.”

Arya wrinkled her nose at that. She didn’t want to think about the stupid school either. While Bran started at Aegon’s School for Boys, she and Sansa would be heading to Mother’s Mercy Academy for Young Ladies. She’d met the headmistress already and found herself yearning for Maester Lewin. Up North, they had been homeschooled by Maester Lewin and Septa Mordane, a woman who Mother had come all the way from the South. She had prayed to both the old gods and the new for Septa Mordane to be carried off by snarks or eaten by Wildings or fall into a snowbank, but instead, they sent her to a place full of them. Worse yet, Septa Mordane had even come with them to the south. The change of scenery had made her even more unbearable.

Father looked at her a moment, considering, before saying, “Sansa is having Jeyne for a sleepover tonight. If you stay, I’ll have you join them.”

That was an even worse idea. If Septa Mordane was bad, Jeyne Poole was even worse. If she had to spend the night listening to Sansa croon on and on about Joffrey Baratheon and have Jeyne call her Horseface, she would jump off the roof of the house. At least with Myrcella, she wouldn’t have to see someone she actively didn’t like all night, though she would have to see Cersei. But she’d much rather deal with Cersei than Jeyne Poole. All Cersei ever did was sneer at her and that was when she actually noticed her.

“She can’t!” Sansa cried out from the top of the stairs before Arya could even agree to go to Myrcella’s.

“No one wants to go to your stupid sleepover!” Arya snapped back. Arya was a whole ten years old, gone were the days when she demanded to be included in her sister’s parties with Jeyne Poole. She didn’t need their charity.

“She’ll ruin it, Father. She ruins everything.”

“Sansa, that isn’t k-”

“I do not, you stupid!”

“Arya, don’t cal-”

“You do too! She got orange juice on my new dress. The one I got from Queen Cersei! I know she did it on purpose, Father.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Gir-”

“Sorry won’t get out the stain!”

“It was ugly on you anyway!”

“ _You’re_ ugly!”

“Girls! Enough!” Father all but yelled, a rare occurrence in the Stark household. He looked at both of them and Arya could feel her stomach sinking. He was going to ground her…or worse; he was going to tell Mother. Mother would call and scold her.

“Father,” Sansa started to say but got cut off when Father turned to her.

“One more word and I’ll tell Vanyon not to bring Jeyne over,’ Father waited a moment for Sansa to speak and when she didn’t, he continued, ‘Go talk to Septa Mordane about getting pizza ordered.”

Sansa rushed off before Father could make good on this threat. Father turned to her and Arya opened her mouth before seeing the look in Father’s eye. She settled for chewing her lip.

“Arya, you are going tonight and you are going to have fun. Neither is an option”

Arya had nothing to say to that one.

“What are you going to do?”

Arya did not pout, “I’m going to go and have fun."

“That’s my girl,’ Father said, ‘It’ll be fun. I’ll even drive you over.”

Arya let out a groan and went to say goodbye to Nymeria.

…

No matter what anyone said the Red Keep was nothing compared to Winterfell.

“Ned!” Robert Baratheon declared loudly as she and Father were led into the king’s solar. It was one of the fanciest rooms Arya had ever seen and the glow of all the gold in the firelight almost made her eyes hurt. The room was covered in gold and black, even the cushions on the chairs sparkled. It almost had more gold than the solar she had Sansa had been shown into when they came to visit Cersei not long after they arrived in King’s Landing. The queen’s solar had a lot redder, though. Robert sat in front of the roaring fireplace a half-empty bottle of brown liquid sitting beside his elbow.

“Hello, Robert,” Father said leading Arya into the room.

“Have you heard what that bastard Little Finger is saying? The man owns half the who-”

“Come say hello to Robert, Arya,” Father said, cutting the man off, and forcing Arya to stand directly beside him with a firm hand to her back.

“Hi, Your Grace,” Arya said, trying to remember what perfect Sansa would say to him.

Robert stared at her a moment, before seeming to place her.

“Call me Uncle Robert! Your father and I are closer than even blood brothers. I’m sure he’s told you that, Alyssa.”

“Arya.”

Robert turned back to Father, seeming to lose interest in her, “I thought you’d come to have boy’s night with me, Ned. It’s been some time since we’ve done more than run this damned country.”

“I came to drop Arya off for the sleepover.”

“Sleepover?”

“Yes,’ Father said, now sounding uncertain, ‘Myrcella is supposed to be having a sleepover and invited Arya to come.”

Arya felt a burst of hope in her chest. Maybe Father had been wrong. Maybe there was no sleepover or she hadn’t been invited or it had been canceled by Cersei and Joffrey had been carried away by snarks. She would go home and ignore Sansa and Jeyne and maybe she and Bran could play a game. Or she’d read of her Books to Read in the Dark books.

“Oh. I forgot about that,’ Robert said before yelling for a servant. A septa appeared instead, but that did not seem to phase Robert.

“Take Ned’s girl to the others.”

Instead of leading Arya to Myrcella’s bedroom, the Septa led her to one of the Keep’s entertaining rooms, the ones that usually held the parties that Father refused to go to. Plush carpets had been put down and fluffy pastel sleeping bags made a rainbow by two large windows facing the Black Water. Across from them, on the other side of the room, sat long tables with pizzas and different kinds of juices and Sansa’s beloved lemon cakes. A large white sheet hung on the far wall with bean bags and more plush carpets laying in front of it, ready for a movie to start playing.

The Septa led Arya to a lavender sleeping bag, the color soft enough she could pretend it was some sort of grey, with a plush wolf on it and her duffle bag, which had been taken upon her entry, behind it. Her sleeping bag was flanked by a soft pink sleeping bag with a stuffed lion and a muted yellow sleeping bag with a fawn. Arya resisted the urge to tell the Septa that she was too old for the plush wolf, knowing that Father was still and would be upset with her. And anyway, it was kind of cute, not that she would tell anyone that.

“Let’s get you changed into your pajamas and then you can join the other girls, Lady Arya. We are just about to have some pizza.”

Arya was led to the nearest bathroom and reappeared quickly in an old band tee of Jon’s she’d stolen before he headed off to military school and a pair of shorts. The Septa looked a bit disturbed at the Thenns t-shirt but managed to keep her face cheery. The Septa led her over to where a small group of girls her age stood waiting for pizza by a table. She recognized Myrcella from brief meetings, but she couldn’t place the others.

“Princess Myrcella, why don’t you make introductions while we get dinner sorted.” The septa said before leaving Arya to the mercy of the girls in front of her.

Luckily Myrcella was no Jeyne Poole and smiled at Arya.

“Hi Arya, these are my cousins. That’s Rosamund and next to her is Joy,’ she said pointing to two girls who looked a lot like Myrcella. Where you could tell she and Joy were definitely related, Myrcella and Rosamund looked a bit too much like each other, though the hair was different. Both girls wore nightgowns similar to Myrcella’s, dainty flowy things in soft colors.

“And that’s my cousin Shireen.”

Was Arya the only girl here not related to Myrcella?

Arya thanked the old gods and the new that Shireen did not look anything like Myrcella. She already felt like an outsider among them, she wasn’t sure she wanted to look like one too. Unlike the others, Shireen had deep blue eyes that reminded Arya of Robert’s, a squarer jaw, and bigger ears. She had a scar covering the left side of her face, which made her cool in Arya’s book. More importantly, she looked as out of place as Arya. She stood stiffly in a nightgown that Septa Mordane would have approved of.

“This is Arya, she’s the Hand’s daughter,” Myrcella explained to her cousins.

It was strange to be introduced like that. She was used to just being introduced as “Arya” or as “my little sister” or “my friend Arya” or “my niece” or “my daughter”. Most of her friends in the North she had known since infancy. She can’t remember the first time she met the Mormont girls or Wylla. She has a fuzzy memory of being introduced to Bethany during a vacation in the Riverlands. If the servants and visitors whose children she played with were told she was Lord Stark’s daughter, they did not do it in front of her.

Arya waved from where she stood, “Hey.”

The girls just kind of looked at her and Arya knew it was going to be a long night.

The Septa returned and led the girls to the bean bag chairs, now with little trays in front of them. Each tray had a piece of pizza and a cup of juice on it. As they ate Myrcellla and her strangely similar cousins talked about people Arya didn’t know. Every so often Myrcella would look over at Arya and explain who she meant. Arya still had little to add.

It was weird being at a slumber party that was so structured. Even Sansa’s slumber parties felt a bit wilder. When she slept over at the Mormonts, Dacey was usually in charge which meant pizza for dinner, sundaes for dessert, whatever you wanted for a snack, and going to bed whenever. Jorelle, Arya, and sometimes Lyanna, would wander into Dacey’s room just after she started a movie. If they came in too soon, she would kick them out, if it had already started, she wouldn’t bother. Some movies would devolve into popcorn and candy throwing. Some nights they would crank call people who they found in Maege’s address book. They would double-direwolf dare each other to call Roose Bolton but never go through with it. Harwin Reed, however, had heard from them more than once at odd hours of the night. More than once Arya had gone home from a sleepover at the Mormont, but not actually falling asleep until she got home.

Arya didn’t think that would be the case here.

After the pizza, Myrcella suggested a game of come-into-my-castle to which Arya heartily agreed. The bean bags and trays were moved which gave the girls enough room to run around, even if it was limited. Arya and Myrcella seemed to be the only ones really into the game, chasing each other. Shireen hung to the back watching and Rosamund gave a half-hearted attempt. Joy Hill seemed happy enough, but after the second round, and a brief whispered conference with Rosamund, suggested watching movies instead.

The beanbags and mats were put bag along with bowls of popcorn and a lemon cake for each girl. The movie while not awful, was not a favorite of Arya’s. It was something Sansa would have sighed over with a fair maiden and handsome prince and some stupid curse. At least the lemon cake was good.

“What are you reading?” Arya asked, curiously. The movie lost her attention about 30 minutes in.

“In the Age of Heroes,” Shireen answered, not looking up.

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a bunch of stories from the Age of Heroes.”

“Does it have Wenda Or Nymeria in it? They’re my favorite.”

Shireen finally looked up and at Arya. The girl studied her for a while and Arya studied her right back. Shireen kind of reminded her of the owls that would make nests in the rafters in the stables. Her eyes were wide and at the moment unblinking.

“If it does, I haven’t gotten to it yet. Right now, I’m on Torgon the Terrible. It’s pretty spooky.”

“It can’t be scarier than the Night King.”

“Who’s the Night King?”

And so, Arya told her and the Shireen countered with a story from the Stormlands and so it went through two different movies. The two munched on sweets and popcorn and tried to outdo each other with the scary stories they knew. By the time there was talk of putting on one last movie Arya and Shireen were in a heated debate about the relationship between Bran the Builder and Durran Godsgrief.

“Without Bran, you wouldn’t even have Storm’s End.”

“There’s no proof that Bran the Builder was involved. Durran could have figured it out just fine.”

“What are you talking about?” Myrcella asked, scooting to sit next to Shireen. She’d been inching back towards Arya and Shireen since the ending of the first movie and had gotten a little closer every so often.

“How Bran the Builder made the Stormlands.” Arya answered at the same time that Shireen said, “Proving how Durran Godsgreif could hold his own.”

Myrcella looked at them a moment before shrugging, “Lann the Clever claimed glory for House Lannister without any help.”

That started a whole new argument. Was Lann Lannister even a hero? Which of course meant they had to go through all of the heroes they knew, using Shireen’s book as a reference. Arya and Shireen conceded that Lann was a hero, though Shireen still had her reservations on the matter, and Myrcella agreed with Arya that Bran helped a little bit with the building of Storm’s End. After all, it explained the inexplicable bond between Arya and Myrcella’s fathers.

After the third movie, the Septa had the girls crawl into their sleeping bags. She pulled up a chair and read them the story of Florian and Jonquil. Arya tried counting the stars outside instead. She’d heard this story more times than she could remember, it being Sansa’s favorite story.

The septa turned out the lights but made sure to show the girls her cot in the corner of the room should they need her.

Arya stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t exactly tired. She’d been a bit bored, but not tired. She tried to see the little details on the ceiling in the dark, but couldn’t make much out. Next to her Myrcella shifted in her sleeping bag, turning her body towards her.

“Arya,’ she whispered, ‘are you awake?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still hungry? Like for a sweet?”

Arya considered for a moment, “Yeah.”

“There is a whole other tray of lemon cakes in the kitchens. I’ll let you know when we should go. Ask Shireen while we wait.”

Arya gave her affirmation and then turned to Shireen.

“Shireen? _Shireen._ ”

“What?”

“Do you want a lemon cake?” 

“What?”

“Myrcella and I are going to go to the kitchens. Do you want to come?”

Shireen was quiet for so long Arya thought the other girl had fallen asleep. Arya was about to turn to tell Myrcella when Shireen answered her.

“Okay.”

Arya tried to wait patiently for Myrcella. She turned over and started counting the stars again but grew bored of it. She would have looked for constellations, but she didn’t know any of the southern ones. Jon and she used to sit on the roof of Winterfell, snuggled together for warmth, while he pointed out the stars to her. She wished he was here now to teach her the stars. Father was too busy and Sansa too distant for her to ask. If Jon was there, he would have taught them to her.

Arya had started to create her own constellations, figuring the other girls had fallen asleep when an elbow jabs her in the side with a hissed “C’mon.” Arya takes her cue from Myrcella and does the same to Shireen who lets out a grunt when she feels Arya’s elbow.

Myrcella tiptoed to where the Septa sleeps while Shireen and Arya wait at the door and scooped up the flashlight off of the floor. She waited until they got outside of the room to turn on the light, bathing everything in a faint light. The flashlight makes the castle look like a haunted one from the stories.

“Wait,’ Arya called as they passed a bathroom, ‘I gotta go.”

“Let’s get to the kitchen and then I’ll give you the flashlight to go back. We’re not far.” Myrcella said.

Good to her word, as soon as they entered the large kitchen in the Keep Myrcella handed Arya the flashlight. “You remember how to get there, right?”

“I remember,” Arya said, taking the light.

“Come back fast,’ Shireen said, ‘I have to go too.”

She is grateful that Myrcella is right and the bathrooms are not far from the kitchen. If anyone asked her, she would say she walked at a sedate pace to the bathroom, marveling at how quiet the castle was at night. If someone had seen her, they would have seen a little girl rushing through a hallway and lunging for a light switch when she found the right room. They would see something similar when she made her way back to the kitchen except this time, they would see her stop short.

Just as Arya was about to turn the corner into the kitchen, she heard Joffrey’s voice. She peaked around the corner, trying to see in the darkness.

“What are you doing down here, little sister?” Joffrey sneered.

“Oh, go away, Joffrey,” Myrcella said, hands on her hips. Even Arya had to be impressed. Most would be scared of a brother like Joffrey.

“Why should I? What are you and the little freak doing down here? Shouldn’t you be upstairs?” Joffrey said, his voice mean.

“Don’t you call Shireen that!” Myrcella growled out.

“You going to do something to stop me? Do you need a reminder of what happens when you do that?”

Arya had heard enough.

Arya kept her back pressed against the wall, making sure Joffrey couldn’t see her. She cupped her hands and lifted them to her mouth before letting out her best howl. That got the older boy’s attention. Last summer when Robert had brought his family up North, Joffrey had bullied Mycah when Nymeria had stepped in. She hadn’t done more than nip him and growl, but Joffrey had freaked out and started crying. It looked like he hadn’t gotten over his fear of their wolves yet.

Good.

“Mother said the wolf was being left at home,” Joffrey said, though it sounded like he was saying it more to himself than to the two girls in front of him.

Arya did her best wolf call again, causing Joffrey to jerk back. Arya wished her sister could see her dashing prince this way, scared of what went bump in the dark. She did it once more and that did the trick.

Joffrey snarled at his sister and Shireen, but still backed off. Arya made sure he didn’t see her as he walked by at a pace that was just short of a run. As soon as she was sure he was gone, Arya joined Myrcella and Shireen next to the fridge. They stood quietly in the dark for what felt like forever before Arya started to snicker which got Myrcella to giggle which started Shireen laughing.

“Your brother is a prick,” Arya said around a mouthful of lemoncake.

“Just be happy you don’t have to live with him. He’s worse to Tommen.” Myrcella said.

“Could always get some revenge.”

“How?”

All were quiet for a few minutes when Shireen piped up.

“Save your crumbs, we can sneak them into his room and when Aunt Cersei sees the missing cakes she’ll think he did it.”

“Wow, Shireen, your scary,” Arya laughed.

Myrcella considered her cousin for a moment before placing new lemon cakes on each of the plates, “We’ll need more crumbs, the carpet is deep.”

…

The three girls crept up the stairs, using their nightgowns (or in Arya’s case oversized nightshirt) to carry the crumbs. Shireen started to sprinkle little bits of her on the way to Joffrey’s room. Myrcella put her finger to her lips as all of them listened for any sign of life. If Cersei caught them they were all dead, except for Myrcella. And if Cersei didn’t kill her, she knew Mother would.

Myrcella led them to the door that belonged to Jeoffrey and glanced under the door to check for light. Slowly, she opened his door while the girls held their breath. The light was off and Joffrey made no noise from his bed. As quietly as they could the girls stepped into the room and started to spread the crumbs. Shireen had already told them the best pattern to put them in.

Then Joffrey shifted.

And again.

Arya’s head snapped to look at Myrcella who looked at Shireen who looked at Arya.

Joffrey shifted again, this time mumbling.

Then outside of the room, they could hear a voice down the hall.

Without a word between them, the girls let the rest of the crumbs go and ran from the room. They raced through the darkness, listening for any other voices. Arya was half way down the stairs when she remembered the door. Joffrey’s door was closed when they had gotten there. Was it closed now?

“The door!” Arya did her best to whisper yell.

“What?” Shireen hissed back.

“Who closed the door?”

The look on Shireen’s face said that she hadn’t and Arya was pretty sure that Myrcella was first out the door. Arya pivoted and ran back up the steps, creeping to the still-open door. She could still hear the voices down the hall, but she didn’t think they were moving. Arya peeked into Joffrey’s room and saw no movement from the bed. Slowly Arya reached for the door and closed it quietly, thanking the old gods and the new that Joffrey stayed asleep.

Arya turned towards the stairs when a door down the hall opened and light flooded out of it along with voices. She scrambled towards the stairs, laying instead of standing in case they turned on the hallway light.

“You’ve gone too far, Robert. I’ve dealt with the one in the Vale and the ones in the Stormlands, but now I have to deal with others?” Cersei Baratheon snapped.

Arya started to slide her way down the stairs.

King Robert followed her.

“I just want to see the boy, Cersei, not move him in.”

Arya saw Shireen through the bars, motioning for her to come on. Arya shifted and then forgetting she held the flashlight, dropped it. Helpless, she listened to the flashlight roll down the stairs to clatter at the bottom of the steps.

“What was that?” Cersei demanded, heading for the stairs.

Arya pushed herself against the banister, trying not to make a sound.

“It was nothing. It’s an old castle, it makes noises.”

“Are you so drunk you can’t hear anymore?”

Arya tried to slide down the steps a little more.

“Aye, Cersei, and I’ve lost my sight too. Did you think I didn’t notice the people your father put in my court?”

A little more.

“Father is merely making suggestions!”

Just a bit more.

“I don’t want Tywin Lannister’s bloody suggestions!” the king roared.

Arya made it to the last step.

As soon as Arya felt the landing under her feet, she popped up and ran for the room with the sleeping bags. She skidded to a stop just in front of the doors leading to the room with Myrcella running into her back. Now was Arya’s turn to put a finger to her lips.

The girls kept an eye on the sleeping Septa as they tip-toed as quickly as they could to their sleeping bags. All three slipped into their respective sleeping bags and laid in silence for a minute. Then Shireen started to giggle and Arya tried to suppress her laughter which just made her laugh harder while Myrcella laughed into her stuffed lion.

“I thought your mother was going to catch me for sure,” Arya whispered.

“You? I thought Joff was going to wake up any minute.” Myrcella whispered out, between giggles.

“Guys,” Shireen whispered.

“What?”

“I still have to use the bathroom.”

All three of them laughed and they continued to even as the sun turned the sky pink.


	2. Hey, Ladies!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 315 AC   
> 16-14 days until the Wedding

**From:** Shireen Baratheon

 **To:** Arya Stark

 **Subject:** Read this One FWD: RE: Paging All Little Black Dresses

Arya,

While I understand why you are sending Rosamund’s emails to spam, you should actually read them. Sometimes the information she sends is of actual use.

Also remember to send me your flight information. You were supposed to do it two nights ago. Remember?

I am assuming that you haven’t sent it is because you fell in one of those canals and almost drowned. I am sure you were taking time to recover from your ordeal. I will ask Mother to say an extra prayer to her Lord of Light for a speedy recover and response.

Hoping you aren’t at the bottom of a canal,

Shireen

\------------- original message -------------------------------

 **Subject:** RE:Paging All Little Black Dresses

 **From:** Rosamund Lannister

 **To:** Alysanne Bulwer; A.Lannister@wmail.com; Arrianne Martell; Arya Stark; Bethany Blackwood; ladylance87@dmail.com; Dorea Sand; Elaenor Mooton; GwynethYw@dmail.com; Missandei Naath; Obella Sand; Shireen Baratheon; Talla Tarly

Hey Ladies!

The weekend of Myrcella's bachelorette party is right around the corner!

I am sure that you, like me, are looking forward to a little partying. After all of the business of planning this wedding it is time for a little fun! Woohooo!

As I am sure that all of you are a packing, I am going to include the checklist of what to bring again so everyone is clear on what is needed:

  * Cute clothing both day and night time appropriate ( **no white** )
  * Bathing suits
  * Clothing for both the day and night time
  * Makeup bags, especially for nights out (Arya, you can help with that right?)
  * Some athletic wear (Sweating for the wedding and all)
  * **Sense of humor and adventure!!!!**



I cannot wait to see all of you pretty ladies in Dorne!

Hugs and kisses,

Rosamund   
Maid of Honor

P.S. If you still need to pay your bachelorette or bridesmaids dues please do so quickly, so we can party without any worried!

\-----------------------------

 **From:** Arya Stark

 **To:** Shireen Baratheon

 **Subject:** RE: Read This One FWD:RE: Paging All Little Black Dresses

Shireen,

I will land in Sunspear at 11:45 pm on the 10th. If the plane departs on time. Gods forbid my flights ever leave on time.

Also, I read Rosamund’s email as you commanded. I miss the bottom of the canal already.

\- A

**\----------------------------------**

**From:** Tommen Baratheon

 **To:** Shireen Baratheon; Arya Stark

 **CC:** Myrcella Baratheon

 **Subject:** Pictures Needed

Hi girls,

I’ve been out in charge of making a video for the rehearsal dinner. I was hoping the two of you might have pictures that could work. Cella says some should be “tastefully embarrassing”. Not really sure what she means.

Thanks!

Tommen

\-----------------------------------

 **From:** Myrcella Baratheon

 **To:** Tommen Baratheon; Shireen Baratheon; Arya Stark

 **Subject:** RE:Pictures Needed

Tommen,

Tastefully embarrassing means something embarrassing, but not too embarrassing. If all the photos look too nice it all looks staged. If it’s too embarrassing then I’m just embarrassed. Do you want me embarrassed at my rehearsal?

\--------------------------------------------

 **From:** Arya Stark

 **To:** Shireen Baratheon; Tommen Baratheon; Myrcella Baratheon

 **Subject:** RE:RE: Pictures Needed

  1. Stop talking like Sansa. We already one and that is enough.
  2. Does that picture of you being sea sick during that cruise on the Black Water count as too embarrassing? Because I think it should be framed.
  3. A little bit, yeah.



\-----------------------------------------------

 **From:** Shireen Baratheon

 **To:** Tommen Baratheon; Myrcella Baratheon; Arya Stark

 **Subject:** RE:RE:RE: Pictures Needed

The first time she tried to straighten her hair herself and singed it is better.

\------------------------------------------------

 **From:** Myrcella Baratheon

 **To:** Shireen Baratheon; Arya Stark; Tommen Baratheon

 **Subject:** RE:RE:RE:RE: Pictures Needed

You are both out of the wedding

\--------------------------------------------------

 **From:** Arya Stark

 **To:** Catelyn Stark

 **Subject:** Pictures Needed

Hi Mother,

Tommen needs pictures that are “tastefully embaressing” of Myrcella for a video for the rehersal dinner. Do you have any?

Send love to Father.

Arya

\-------------------------------------------------

 **From:** Catleyn Stark

 **To:** Arya Stark

 **Subject:** RE:Regarding Pictures

Hello Arya,

When you get home from the Watergardens you are more than welcome to look through the pictures we have. I am sure that you have a better idea of what Myrcella would like than I would. Your Father and I are very much looking forward to having you home. Sansa said something about you considering a new project in Westeros? When you get home let’s speak more about it. I’d be happy to help you find an apartment or we always have the spare on the Street of Gold you could use. I’ll send you links to a few options that would be suitable.

Please be safe this weekend. I know all of you girls are adults, but it still is important to stay safe and be vigilant. If anything happens, call me. I’ll have Robb go and get you. Call or text me before the weekend is up so I know you are alive. If you don’t, I’ll send Brienne for you.

All my love,

Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,
> 
> This chapter was inspired by "Hey Ladies!" By Caroline Moss and Michelle Markowitz. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Suddenly I See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 315 AC  
> 12 Days before the Wedding

Arya loved flying. Whether it involved turbulence or storms or the random too close bird, Arya loved the feeling of being in the air. She had never grown out of pretending she was a bird or a dragon, soaring through the sky to some grand adventure. She could go anywhere she wanted and have adventures like in Old Nan’s stories. Daydreaming had comforted her through more than one long flight.

Now, though, she did have some more…mature comforts. Like the little bottle of bubbly, she had requested before the flight took off. And more importantly, her phone was not going off in the air like it did on the ground. Along with one-on-one chats she had a multitude of group chats. There was the large Stark Family group chat, a chat with only she, Bran, and Rickon. Then there was the chat for all of the makeup artists working on the show, the chat for costume and makeup, and then the chat for all of the people she had gone to the House of Black and White with. Of all the chats to be the most active was the one between her, Shireen, and Myrcella. They were in other chats together with friends and fellow alum from Mother’s Mercy, but their private one remained active. Recently, though, a new chat had been rising in the ranks in terms of activity, almost overtaking the _Starkling_ group chat. The newest chat was labeled _Bling and Bubbly_ with the picture of a diamond ring and a blond girl with a veil next to the name.

Clearly neither she nor Shireen would be Maid of Honor, if Myrcella’s wedding group chat was anything to go by.

Arya could not say she was upset by the position being given to another. She had been MoH (Sansa’s term not hers) for Sansa and Marge’s wedding and she found no need to relive the experience, even if it was for Myrcella and not her perfectionist control freak of a sister. Shireen had passed up the position as well. While an obvious choice as one of the bride’s cousins, Shireen had no desire to herd her cousin’s bridesmaids and plan all the events. She would rather be in the archive in Old Town reading moldy books and scrolls. So, with all other female options lost, Rosamund took the position and ruled with an iron fist that even Arya had to be impressed with.

The group chat had been set up exactly one month after Myrcella’s engagement and included all of the bridesmaids. Rosamund sent daily messages through the phone and emailed a weekly bridesmaid newsletter every Sunday at noon. How she had the time was truly a mystery. Arya and Shireen had concluded that it must have been some combination of Lannister genetics and PR girl classes. Arya’s money was on the Lannister genetics more than anything. Rosamund had become the face of House Lannister PR at an impressive speed. Some would call it blatant nepotism (which was exactly what it was), but you needed more than blood to get into the good graces of Tywin Lannister.

It was that same stubbornness and slyness that got Rosamund her job that was driving Arya up a wall. Arya was half tempted to call Tywin Lannister herself and force the man to call his great-niece or whatever she was off. It took only two weeks of the engagement announcement for Rosalyn to ask Arya if she planned to do the makeup for the wedding party. In that time the other girl never considered the fact that Arya would say “no”. She most certainly would not be doing the wedding makeup, knowing her luck she would be forced to do Cersei’s as well and that was a risk Arya couldn’t take. More importantly, that was not even the type of makeup Arya did.

“But you do makeup, Arya. This just makes sense.” Rosamund had said and Arya swore she could hear the other woman clicking her pen quickly in the background. It was a tick of Rosamund that had followed them into adulthood. More than once a teenage Arya had wanted to tell the other girl exactly what she could do with that pen if she clicked it one more time.

“I do stage and special effects makeup; I don’t do wedding makeup. Didn’t Myrcella show you the pictures?”

“Yes, but you must know the basics. A little bit of glam. It just makes _sense.”_

“If you want to look like an actual lioness going down the aisle, Ros, I’ve got you.”

That conversation had not deterred Rosamund. Arya was glad that she would not be seeing Rosalyn right when she arrived in Westeros again, she might actually hit her if she brought up the point again. She had spent the better part of the time before she got on a plane back home, taking the makeup off of an ungrateful prima donna.

When people put on make-up, they long complained about the process of having it put on. They couldn’t touch their face or twitch. In some cases, like with prosthetics, they complained about feeling as if they were suffocated. Some complained while taking off the makeup as well. It was almost always a process no matter what was on their faces. The taking off, however, was something that Arya loved almost as much as putting it on.

Lana always seemed a bit sad when she had to take it off. She said it felt she was ruining her art, washing away all of her hard work. Arya thought it was amazing to watch people remove their masks. To watch monsters and kings become simple men and for queens and deities to become women felt like watching magic. Or maybe the deconstruction of it. As Arya helped actors to take off their faces, she was helping in creating and destroying her creatures.

That magic was easily lost on people. And while some people hated one part of the process, some hated all of it. Such as Wendenye. While a gifted actress the woman was the type of person who loved to complain. The glue used to attach the shimmering scales to her face irritated her skin, though no signs of redness ever appeared. The setting spray Arya used affected her lungs, though no one else had such a complaint. She swore the rubber used to make her cheeks stand out more never came off completely, no matter how many times Arya cleansed her face. She complained constantly about the contacts she had to wear whether they were in her eyes or out of them. She spoke of them even on nights Bellegere conceded that she did not have to wear them.

Arya wondered if Wendenye’s role was getting to her. Maybe she was a method actor or something. She played the Merling Queen night after night. And night after night her handmaidens kept drowning and her spurned lovers were found at the bottom of canals. And night after night, Arya contemplated pushing Wendenye into the actual canals by the theatre. It wouldn’t take much really and maybe Wendenye would find one of the real Merling Queen’s lovers, that was sure to spark inspiration. The staff entrance was not terribly far from the ones for people arriving in the gondolas that floated in the canals. At night many of the actors and some of the staff left in their own little gondolas. Maybe Arya could bribe Wendenye’s rower to capsize.

Even Daena, though, couldn’t dampen how much enjoyment Arya got out of her work. _The Courtesans of Braavos_ had been one of the more intensive shows Arya had worked on. Bellegre, a former actress making her directing debut, wanted all the characters to resemble their monikers. So, the Merling Queen resembled a mermaid, the Nightingale resembled the bird she was named after, and so on. And it was not for simple shock value either or just to show they could. There was storytelling involved too. When the focal character enters the Satin Palace, she has very minimal makeup. She wears less makeup than is usually used on stage to make her look paler and plainer the world around her, the makeup getting continually more intense as the show and her training go on. Arya loved it.

She loved doing art she was passionate about she found that she really enjoyed working with Bellegere. The woman was more daring than most and allowed for creativity. In Arya’s early days the budget and the room for creativity had been tight. While getting through HoBaW she had volunteered at the Happy Port, helping the girls fix their makeup when they put on shows. Most of the makeup she did was meant to be pretty and there was little daring in it. Still it was at the Happy Port where she caught the eye of another stage director and that led her to Bellegere. Granted, she was sure the Kindly Man had something to do with it, but she was still grateful to the Happy Port for giving her a place to start.

“So, you are leaving us.” Bellegere had said, watching as Arya rested two micellar water-soaked reusable cotton rounds over Daena’s eyes to work on taking off the eye makeup and giving the shaving cream a chance to do some of its magic.

“For a little bit.” Arya agreed.

“I should think for some time.”

“No. Just long enough for the wedding festivities and then I’ll be back.”

“I’ve spoken to a colleague of mine who is Westeros for a project. His name is Izembaro, he is still relatively unknown, but I thought you a good fit.”

“For what?” Arya asked, starting to gently move the cotton rounds around, despite Daena’s hiss of _gentle, girl._

“He has a tour planned out. He needs an experienced make-up artist. He saw your work and was interested.”

“What’s the project?”

“A retelling of one your Westerosi tales or a combination of them,” Bellegere said with a shrug. Arya would press for more information but by now she does not really expect it.

Bellegere was not one to really elaborate on things if she is unsure of them. The way she describes it to Arya told her that the woman listened to this Izembaro, took the information, remembered to talk to Arya, and threw the rest of the information from her mind. If Bellegere found the show so unremarkable and forgettable was it really something she wanted to work on? In all honesty, Arya was hoping to work more with her current director. While this was their first time working together with Bellegere as a director, the this was their fourth project together and they only seemed to improve.

“Oh, don’t make that face, I am not banishing you. You are on loan only. Izembaro does not get to keep you.”

In the end Arya had agreed to meet with the man, if only to appease Bellegere. The woman had given her a chance few others would and had continued to give her work. She owed her for that. Besides meeting with Izembaro would not hurt anything, in fact, it might be a good thing. A director with a lower bill may not bring in as much money, but he might be willing to give her the creative liberties that others wouldn’t.

Rosalyn Lannister certainly wouldn’t allow for creative liberties for the wedding. With the way, that woman planned she felt bad for the poor soul who would end up doing it. Between Cersei and Rosalyn, they had their work cut out for them. Though, granted Arya as she took a sip of her airplane champagne, Rosalyn had other things to worry about than whether or not Arya would do the makeup for the bridal party or if she would have to use one of the dozen artists on standby. Most importantly that the bachelorette party was in three days.

The bachelorette party had its own group chat, lovingly named “We Bae All Night”, and newsletter, though that one was bi-weekly. Or at least that was what Shireen had told her since she was too nice to add Rosamund’s email to her spam folder as Arya had. Sometimes when she forwarded the notable ones to Arya. Notable in this case referred to a dress code or the need to pay dues or Rosamund seeming to have a slight meltdown over whether to go to a night club or a lounge and if they should stay in King’s Landing or go abroad or to Lannisport.

In the end, Rosamund made some hard decisions. They would go to Dorne, so more of Trystane’s family could be included. It was considered a concession since the wedding would take place in King’s Landing. They would go to a lounge because they were adults and had a certain image to uphold. The dress code was cute casual, but not too casual, so short dresses and skirts but no seven-inch heels. The woman had a whole schedule for how the night would go. Arya wondered if any of them would be sober enough to follow it. Maybe Rosamund would be.

Shireen probably would be. The only time Arya can recall seeing Shireen drunk was when they were six and ten and Jon came to introduce Father to Ygritte. Ygritte, brilliant woman she was, had brought good Northern Vodka from far up North and had been happy to share.

“Yer brother never taught ya to take a shot?” Ygritte asked, aghast when Arya, Myrcella, and a reluctant Shireen had asked what the vodka tasted like. They’d had little bits of spiced wine at parties or a glass of champagne before, but never true liquor.

“No, he hasn’t. Will you teach us?”

And Ygritte had. Two shots of vodka later that tasted the way nail polish smelled, the three of them were well gone. If Shireen ever got drunker than she did that night, Arya wasn’t around for it. If anyone was going to stay sober throughout the bachelorette party it was going to be Shireen.

And maybe a Sand Snake. Obara if she came. The rest of them, though…well…Arya hoped that Rosalyn was not too attached to her schedule.

**…**

The road to the Watergardens from the airport of Sunspear was bumpier than her plane ride had been. Arya wedged herself next to the passenger door and did her best not to hold on for dear life. As soon as she did Elia would be sure to tease her. Shireen on the other hand had no such issues.

“Arianne has her own plans for this bachelorette party,” Elia told her taking another curve faster than Arya would have dared on a cliff. Arya heard Shireen hold back a gasp behind her.

That was no shock to Arya. Arianne had her own way of doing things and the Dornish were by no means as stuffy as those from the Crownlands. When Oberyn had brought his daughters to the capital Arya had taken an immediate liking to them for that. They reminded her of Northerns but…well…southern. Besides, Arya had gotten the emails.

As a girl, she had idolized Elia. Elia had been considered a prodigy when it came to jousting, a sport that Mother and Father never allowed Arya to even try. When Arya had convinced Father to allow her to go to Dorn one summer to spend time with the Sand Snakes (a trip that would be the start of Myrcella and Trsytane’s meet-cute) Elia had allowed Arya to at least give it a shot. It had not gone well. Arya was a great rider, but the lance was heavier than she expected and between keeping the sand steed under control and the lance upright she simply couldn’t match Lady Lance. Still, Arya remained one of her biggest fans.

“How are she and Rosamund getting on?”

“Oh, it has been fun. Lannister is tougher than I gave her credit for, she holds her own against Arianne.”

That was high praise coming from anyone related to House Martell.

“And how are you doing being torn away from your books?” Arya asked, turning in her seat to look at Shireen.

“I brought a copy of one or two along with me,’ Shireen said with a shrug, ‘Figured I could get a little work done.”

“While we're here for a bachelorette weekend for Cella?”

“You love your work and I love mine. Speaking of love, Bran sends his.”

“Talk to Bran a lot, do you?” Arya asked with a smirk.

“You can get that look off of your face. He is my coworker and we did grow up together, of course, we talk.”

“About love?”

“About many things, Arya, mainly whether or not Bran the Builder is an actual person or a group of men.”

“How romantic.”

Shireen kicked the back of Arya’s seat.

Arya had long teased Shireen about her relationship with Bran. While closer with Arya, Shireen could claim friendship with Bran. The two had bonded over the stories of knights much as Arya and Shireen had. The difference being that eventually Shireen and Arya moved on from arguing about imaginary creatures where Shireen and Bran hadn’t. In fact, they’d made careers out of it. When Bran still jousted Shireen used to come along to keep Arya company. She’d read for most of the matches, but as soon as it was Bran’s turn, he had her full attention.

Not that it ever really went anywhere. They both had romantic relationships, but never with each other. Shireen had dated Devan Seaworth and for a time danced around the idea of being something with Edric Storm that never went anywhere. Once upon she’d even had a crush on Quentyn Martell, but between the age gap and his thing for Yornwood girls, she had decided he was too impractical a choice. Bran had had a few relationships in the forms of Bethany Blackwood and Jojen Reed. Despite all of her, and their families’, needling Shireen and Bran stayed no more than friends.

“I leave the romance to Myrcella. Seems like a lot of trouble, honestly.”

“Weddings always are.”

And Arya would know. With a large family like hers, she’d been to her fair share of weddings. The first one she can remember attending was for Uncle Edmure and Auntie Rosalyn. She and Sansa had been flower girls. Then when they got older, they went to Aunt Lysa’s wedding to Petyr Baelish which might as well have been a funeral. The only ones smiling at all were Aunt Lysa and Peytr (Arya refused to insult Uncle Benjen and Uncle Edmure by giving that man the title of uncle), and Peytr was not even smiling at his bride but at Mother. Robb’s came when Arya was 18 and that one had been fun. Even though Jeyne was not Alysanne Mormont as Arya had hoped, she was still a good fit. Her mother, however, was a piece of work to put it nicely. Sansa’s wedding had been a challenge, one that Arya was happy to forget about.

“Cersei is being difficult.”

“Is that supposed to be a revelation or something?”

“She doesn’t want Gendry to come.”

“Again, Shireen, I’m not seeing the shocker.”

Cersei never wanted Gendry around. When Robert had wanted to send the boy to a good school there had been a fight. When he had wanted to bring him into politics there had been a fight. When he was included on family vacations there were fights. Every time Gendry was around Cersei had a problem with it. It was probably the reason that Arya liked Gendry Waters before she ever saw him. Anyone who Cersei felt this strongly about had to be a good person to be around.

And she’d been right. Gendry, while moody and kind of a dick, was fun. He begrudgingly taught them how to drink beer. He’d been the one to teach Arya how to drive and change a tire. He helped them to rent scary or adult movies. And while Arya would rather bite her tongue out than admit it, she’d had a crush on him. But it was not anything major, certainly not. When she had left Westeros for what was across the Narrow Sea, her thoughts of him lessened. A simple crush she’d told herself time and time again. She’d wanted him because he was there and not related to her, that was all.

It would be good to see Gendry again; good to catch up with an old friend.

“Myrcella is just grouchy she doesn’t get to see Trystane for a weekend,’ Elia insisted, taking another sharp turn.

“Have they been ghastly?” Arya asked.

“You’ve no idea. I thought Trys was being shipped off or something with the way they were talking.” Elia said with a laugh.

“As if they haven’t been together for like a decade.”

“And now for the rest of their lives.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Poor Trystane.” Shireen and Arya said at the same time. The two looked at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter.

Laughter continued to fill the car ride all the way to the Water Gardens. And even into them, though they tried to keep it down once they entered into them.

The Water Gardens were beautiful. When Arya had visited the Sand Snakes they would often stay here, the heat of Sunspear being too much. A portion of the Gardens had been sectioned off for the girls. It was far enough away that they would not disturb the children who remained there, but close enough to enjoy the pools. The villas are a little older, but that suited Arya just fine. Winterfell was one of the oldest buildings in Westeros and she had loved when she got to spend time there even if it was not as cushy as the large home in King’s Landing.

The villas surrounded pools were made of stone and would keep them cool even during the day. Drapes hung in the windows heavy enough that the light of the sun would be shut out for the most part but not so heavy as to stop a breeze. Which was good because after a night of partying with Sand Snakes, Arya was sure to sleep all of the next day no matter what day events were planned.

Elia led Shireen and Arya into one of the villas, but not bothering to flick on a light. Instead the girls turned on the flash lights on their phones in order to follow Elia up the stairs. Had this been Winterfell or Dragon Stone the girls would not have needed the lights just like Elia didn’t. She knew these stairs well enough.

“Here you are.” Elia said, stopping in front of a door with “Arya & Shireen” on a little plaque hanging from the door. That just screamed Rosamund.

Elia opened the door to reveal an already occupied bedroom. Myrcella had flopped down on to one of the two beds and was lazily reading some magazine. When the door opened, she lifted her head to look at them and for a second it all felt rather surreal. How often had Arya seen Myrcella in this exact position? How often had she been led to a room with Myrcella in it? And now she was here to see her friend off? Myrcella Baratheon was turning into Myrcella Martell and it felt a bit strange.

If Myrcella felt the same she didn’t show it. Instead the young woman jumped off of the bed with a happy squeal and raced towards them. Arya pushed her suitcase away from her and threw her duffle off to the side before embracing Myrcella at the same time as Shireen. It had been almost a year since she had seen either of these girls. When she was in Braavos she hadn’t really felt it. They had text and email and video calls. They talked all the time. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them physically.

“You’ve finally come! I’ve been waiting ages for you!” Myrcella said, pulling away.

“Just be happy my flight got out of Braavos.”

“And what’s your excuse?” Myrcella asked, turning on Shireen.

“I didn’t want to make Elia to make two trips.”

“Please, someone else could have gone. You were stalling.”

“No, Myrcella, it’s called consideration.”

“And that, sweet cousin, called lying.”

“I’ll leave you lot to it.” Elia said from where she’d been forgotten at the doorway, smirk on her face.

Thank-you-s and Good nights were called to her retreating form before the door shut.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” Arya commented as she put her dufflebag on the bed closest to the large window, squishing another magazine.

“Where would you have me be?”

“A room where your name is on the door?” Shireen teased.

“You’ve just gotten here and you are kicking me out already? I thought you were here for me!”

“You?’ Arya asked, head tilting quizzically, ‘I’m here for a vacation.”

“And you?” Myrcella asked Shireen.

“I’m here to see cousin Rosamund.”

**…**

“I think Mother might poison Uncle Oberyn’s wine.”

“No, she won’t. Your mother would never waste wine that way.”

Arya earned herself a sharp whack with a pillow for telling that particular truth.

“I’m serious. She’s acting like I’m marrying a Frey or something.”

“Lancel married a Frey and no one died.” Shireen pointed out.

“Lancel also once joined a cult. Marrying a Frey was the least of anyone’s worries.”

“Arya’s uncle married a Frey.”

“Auntie Roslin is hardly a Frey. She might as well have been born a Tully.”

“She’s too sweet to be a Tully, you’re a suspicious lot.”

“I’m not suspicious!”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“I’m not!”

“Arya, let me let you in on a secret. You are your mother’s daughter.”

“How dare you.”

“Listening to the two of you fight is like listening to you fight with yourselves.”

“I’ve missed this.” Myrcella said before Arya could think of a proper come back.

“What?”

“ _This_.” Myrcella repeated, gesturing around lazily, almost hitting Shireen in the face.

Arya looked around them. The two beds had been pushed together, which had not taken long but had taken a lot of effort and made enough noise Arya was sure someone would come look in. On one end of the bed lay Shireen with a halo of junk foods that Arya had brought back from Braavos. By Arya’s feet sat more of Myrcella’s magazines. The woman had enough that she could open her own magazine stand, though she claimed she was more interested in doing research on her competition than selling them. Shireen had called that a bad business move. Clothing was already strewn about after Arya and Shireen had worked on getting their pajamas out of their bags. Glasses of Dornish red from a bottle Myrcella brought when she broke into their room, sat in precarious positions. The only light in the room came from a litany of candles that were placed around the room and would take forever and a day to put out.

“We have to do this one more time before the big day,” Myrcella said as she struggled to her knees.

“Talk?” Shireen asked, skeptically.

“No,’ this time it was Shireen’s turn to take a pillow to the face, ‘A sleepover. One last one before my name changes.”

“Exactly how many parties do you want, Myrcella? First the engagement party, then the bridal shower, then the bachelorette, and now you want another party.” Arya asked with raised brow.

“Actually, we still have to get through the bridal shower.” Shireen corrected.

“You know that isn’t what I mean. I want just the three of us for one last night. We’ll do it in the Red Keep, the night before the wedding! Just like before.”

Arya thought on it for a moment before asking, “Are you going to pull that poor Septa out of retirement?”

“Okay, so not just like before. It’ll be like before but, like, evolved.”

Shireen looked at Arya and Arya looked at Shireen.

“You in, Stark?”

“Are you, Baratheon?”

“Might as well.”

“I guess I’ll go.”

“Oh, don’t make it sound like I’m forcing you!’ Myrcella said with a laugh ‘This is going to be major, just you wait.”

“Yeah…so does that mean dear Rosamund will be planning it?”

“Oh, shut it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, 
> 
> The girls are together as adults! Next chapter we'll be back in the past, but this is the present. For anyone who is curious Gendry should be showing up in the next 2 or 3 chapters. While Arya's relationship with him is a big factor of the story, the core of it is the relationship between the girls. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. This chapter got away from me. I'm really excited for this story and i hope you'll come along with me for the ride. Thank you to everyone who got this far! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!
> 
> Best,  
> She Wolf


End file.
